Chapter Ten
CASSIDY
“Where do you want to start, Mike?” I asked the morning after we’d met with Weston Chaudry at Patsy Good’s apartment.
“That all depends. Do you think Chaudry is involved?”
I looked across my desk at my partner of fifteen years.
I trusted Mike and his instincts almost as much, if not more, than I’d trusted my buddies on my SEAL team when I’d served all those years ago.
Mike had been by my side through thick and thin.
I not only counted on him to always back me up, but to be a sounding board with his great judgment and sharp mind.
He’d taken me under his wing when I’d been a rookie detective and taught me how to best conduct an investigation.
My gut instinct told me that Chaudry had nothing to do with the murder of Abraham Feldman, even though it wasn’t our case to solve.
Still, we couldn’t ignore Marigold Bishop’s police sketch, though, it was only one of the things that tied our burglary case to the homicide.
“Honestly, no, something tells me Chaudry has nothing to do with it.”
“What do you make of Patsy Good’s defense of his character?” Mike asked.
I thought about that for a minute. “It’s hard to say, Mike. They’ve hardly known each other for more than a couple of days, but I also think Good has excellent instincts. Candy Sorensen wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.”
Mike pursed his lips, wearing a thoughtful expression I’d come to recognize over the years. My partner never jumped to conclusions, and he’d taught me how to be persistent and patient. “Do you think Good and Chaudry are lovers? They were pretty touchy-feely last night.”
I blew out a long breath and shook my head. “I have no idea if it’s progressed to that yet, but I think they’re well on their way to getting there, Mike.”
Mike grinned. “I have to trust you.”
I smirked. “Why, Mike? Because I’m gay?”
He shrugged. “Don’t you guys have some sort of secret handshake or something?”
I snorted. “Asshole.” I sobered. “Anyway…I don’t think it matters if they’re lovers or not. Patsy did make a good point.”
“Which was?”
“The sketch was made from the memory of a four-year-old.”
Mike nodded. “Okay, you’re right…so, where do we start?”
“I think we should meet with the detective from Hollywood division working the homicide,” I stated. “I don’t know Lance Kershaw, but when I spoke to him on the phone, he seemed willing to sit down and compare notes.”
“Yeah, let’s meet with him. You don’t want to go back and meet with Eli Goldfarb first?” Mike asked.
I thought about it. “I don’t know how helpful it’ll be.
Call it a gut instinct, Mike, but I have a strong feeling he wasn’t totally up front when we interviewed him after the robbery at his store.
I don’t know that his statement is going to change.
It seemed rehearsed. Something was off about him when he sat down with us two weeks ago, and now that we know his father-in-law is Abraham Feldman, I think Goldfarb just might be involved. ”
Two weeks ago, we’d been called to the downtown jewelry wholesale district on Sixth and Hill to investigate a burglary which had taken place in the store that Eli Goldfarb shared with his father-in-law, Abraham Feldman.
Though we hadn’t had the chance to talk to Feldman because it was the Sabbath and he regularly attended schul with his wife on Saturday mornings, Goldfarb had been working.
The two men were Orthodox Hasidic Jews and I’d found it odd that Goldfarb hadn’t also been at temple that morning.
I’d worked on the West Side of L.A. for almost twenty years and always had to schedule interviews with Orthodox Jews at times other than between sundown on Friday and nightfall on Saturday.
To learn that Eli Goldfarb was working on a Saturday morning felt extremely off to me.
However, he did say he wasn’t a particularly observant Jew, only going to services when his wife was around to prod him and she’d been in Israel visiting family and friends.
Mike frowned. “Why do you think Goldfarb is involved in his father-in-law’s murder?”
I held up a finger. “The first time we interviewed Goldfarb, he said a cache of diamonds had gone missing from his store. And he made sure we knew the only two people with the safe combination were him and his father-in-law. He knew we’d look at his father-in-law first as the culprit.”
I held up another finger. “Secondly…when we went to talk to Goldfarb’s wife, their housekeeper said she was taking a long vacation on a kibbutz in Israel…
and that there was no way to contact her, even by phone.
If that’s not suspicious, nothing is.” I held up a third finger.
“Lastly, Feldman’s murder happened right around the time the store was robbed.
Something’s just off about Goldfarb’s story. ”
Mike nodded. “It’s hard to imagine that there are no phones where she is.”
“More and more, this is sounding like Goldfarb has something to hide,” I said.
“Do you think she knows her father was murdered?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. If she loved her father, I think she’d come back to the States right away.” Another thought crossed my mind. “You don’t think she could be dead too, do you?”
Mike picked up the phone. “I don’t know but there’s one way to find out if she actually left the country. That’s a place to start.” He began punching numbers.
“Who’re you calling?” I asked.
“Judy Mendez at the FBI. It’ll be a hell of a lot faster to have her do a passport search than to file a Freedom of Information Act form. We need to know if she ever went to Israel and if so, if she’s back in the States now. If she is, maybe we can schedule an interview with her.”
I nodded. Mendez worked on Candy Sorensen’s team as an IT specialist. She was a hell of a hacker, which was why the FBI had hired her to begin with.
“While you do that, I’m gonna grab us fresh coffee.
When I get back, I’ll call Kershaw and see if we can see him today.
I think we need to compare notes on our cases now that we know the two are related.
Hopefully, the coroner’s report’s back on Feldman too.
I’d love to know if the medical examiner thinks the murder happened before or after the burglary.
” He nodded and held up his mug. I took it and headed to our breakroom.
PATSY
I stood in the kitchen watching coffee drip into the pot at seven the next morning.
Wes hadn’t come out of the bedroom, but when I’d snuck into the room to use the bathroom, he’d been fast asleep on his side, turned away from me.
His broad, muscled back, made me want to drop my clothes to the floor and spoon up behind him.
I’d had to physically restrain myself from crawling into bed for a morning cuddle.
I hadn’t felt this way about any man since falling hard for Tommy—who was straight—all those years ago.
After his death, I’d mourned him, filled with rage which in hindsight, had probably contributed to knocking back enough booze to pass out cold every night.
I heard the bedroom door open and he came down the hall, smiling when I caught sight of him.
The sparse hair on his head was damp and I caught the scent of my bodywash as he walked into the kitchen wearing a big grin.
The thick mat of hair under the thin fabric of his T-shirt made a fuzzy lump, and the few strands poking up above the V-neck made my mouth water.
I’d always been attracted to big, burly bears, and Wes fitted my type to a tee.
“Good mornin’,” I said. “Would ya like a hot drink?”
“I’d love some coffee.” Wes walked straight over and smiled down at me as he slipped his arms around my waist. “First though. I’d like some of this.” He lowered his mouth and gave me a slow, soft kiss until my knees went weak. By the time he finally broke the kiss, I was panting.
“Christ,” I said, smirking at him. “For someone who agreed we should go slow, revvin’ me up first thing in the mornin’ is just not fair.” I reached down and adjusted my erection as he let out a low chuckle. I frowned at him. “Bastard.”
Although I didn’t quite pull that off as I grinned and turned away to pick up the coffeepot.
I flicked the kettle on for tea and filled the teapot with hot water to warm it.
I poured him a coffee and handed it to him.
“Are ya hungry?” I asked as he poured half and half into his coffee.
“I can make breakfast before I head out.”
He smiled behind the rim of the coffee mug, those arresting eyes looking a wee bit naughty. “You don’t have to cook for me, Patsy. I’m really good at pancakes and I can make them fast. Let me do it. I know you have to get to work.”
I nodded. “Yeah, honestly, I’d rather not go in today at all, but I have to meet with the psychologist before I’m cleared to go back out in the field.”
He turned around, holding the box of pancake mix he’d pulled out of the cupboard, and looked at me with a slight frown. I realized I’d made a mistake. Last night, I’d not even mentioned anything about my confrontation with the two suspects. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Not to be nosy, but why do you have to be cleared by a psychologist? Did something happen?” Wes asked, setting the box down on the bench and crossing his big arms over his chest.
I sighed. “Holy Mother of God. Ya could say that.”
He paused for several beats before he uncrossed his arms and threw up his hands. I didn’t miss how he winced, obviously having forgotten all about his sore arm. “Well, are you going to tell me, Patsy?”
“I shot two bank robbery suspects during a Tac Team operation yesterday,” I said reluctantly.
His eyes went wide as he gasped, the palm of his hand automatically flying up to cover his mouth.